Musetta's Waltz and Memories
by StormHornet
Summary: Mimi is running out of time. Roger is worried—because April was weak. April took the easy way out. He wonders, will Mimi be the same? And even as her health declines, Mimi tries to show him that she is strong. [Post–RENT. RogerMimi. One–shot.]


**Disclaimer:** I don't own RENT, boo.**  
Title:**_ Musetta's Waltz and Memories_  
**Type: **One-shot  
**Rating:** T  
**Genre(s): **Angst/Romance  
**Summary:** Mimi is running out of time. Roger is worried—because April was weak. April took the easy way out. He wonders, will Mimi be the same? And even as her health declines, Mimi tries to show him that she is strong. (Post RENT. Roger/Mimi. A somehow-fluffy-and-yet-really-angsty one-shot.)  
**Notes: **First RENT fanfic! Does the fact that I am actually writing one make me a geek?

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**Musetta's Waltz and Memories**

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The first thing Roger Davis, as an inexperienced, naïve child, learned to play on the guitar was Musetta's Waltz. He had grown increasingly attached to it, as, for a good couple of months, it had been the only thing he was able to play. 

Even now, years and years later, he still strummed it constantly, especially, for some reason, in the middle of the night. March 14th of 1990 was a good example. A good two and a half months had passed since Mimi Marquez's brush with death, but he could see her crumpled on the table as clearly as ever. Worst, he could picture her, as she was now—a pale, gaunt ghost of herself. She was getting sicker and sicker.

Roger dragged himself out of bed with a groan, and snatched his guitar from its place by the bedside. Creeping past Mark, snoring away on his trundle bed on the other side of the room, Roger made his way to the couch in the main room. Quietly, he sat down and began to strum.

_April._

The name came to him suddenly, the same instant he thought of the smile that Mimi had offered him the night they met.

_April was weak._

Roger's guitar hit the floor with a loud crash; he hoped he hadn't woken Mark. But as soon as he bent to pick it up he knew it was true. April knew her fate, _their _fate, and she had taken the easy way out. He still remembered that day.

_It had been his plan, to surprise April with a visit, to bring his guitar and show her what he had of his new song, something he had come up with the previous evening. And so he had thrown on a coat, grabbed his guitar and half-ran to her apartment._

_Roger had found it odd that the door had been left open, but he thought nothing of it and proceeded inside. Usually, her small flat was booming with music, but everything was silent and this alone unnerved him. Cautious now, he set down his guitar on a counter and called out timidly, "April?" It was dark, darker than usual. He was relieved, however, to see a light shining from an adjoining room._

_Upon closer inspection, Roger's brow drew together in worry when he saw that the oddly flickering, fluorescent light came from what seemed to be the bathroom. His heart leapt into his throat. What was going on?_

_"April," he said again, and hurried into the brightly lit room. The cheap, neon lights hurt his eyes and he shielded them for a moment. When he could see again, he lowered his hand and let his eyes drop scan the room. Within seconds they had found her, and the blood. So much blood, too much blood. Roger turned away in horror and disbelief and crumpled to his knees. The words he had saved for her died in his throat, and the song he had written for her vanished forever._

"Roger?"

A voice broke the musician out of his reverie, and Roger's head snapped up to see a sleepy-looking Mark standing in the doorway. Roger immediately stood, sending his guitar to the floor again from where he had picked it up. "Uh… Mark… did I wake you?"

The blond boy looked only sympathetic, as if he had known what Roger had been thinking about. Pushing his glasses up his nose, Mark squinted at his friend in the darkness and said, "It's okay. I was having a shitty dream, so thanks for waking me up." Roger chuckled at this and Mark moved into the kitchen, switching on some lights as he did so. "You okay, Rog?"

Roger winced at the nickname. "Y-yeah," he said, summoning a small smile. "Fine."

Mark grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and brought it to the counter, where a box of cereal was already waiting. Sitting down on a stool, Mark dug in and chewed thoughtfully. "Y'know," he garbled through a mouthful, and then swallowed and went on, "Mimi's been looking pale recently."

Roger flinched, again. "Yeah," he agreed in a soft, soft voice.

_April was weak. April took the easy way out._

There it was, that nagging voice in the back of his head. Except this time, it wasn't finished.

_Is Mimi weak too?_

Roger's grip on his guitar tightened. It was hard enough, watching her health decline at such an alarming rate. Mimi was doing better than she had been last Christmas, obviously, but still, she looked too ill for Roger's liking and it was tearing him apart.

He didn't want to watch her die, why do you think he ran away to Santa Fe?

_Will Mimi be the same?_

Was it possible that he was grateful to April? Grateful to her, for disappearing before he had the chance to watch her wither? No, impossible.

That was the last thing he wanted of Mimi, anyway.

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The question (_will Mimi be the same?_) plagued Roger day and night, until finally he tore downstairs to her apartment and threw open the door. He found her sitting in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes open wide, unmoving. And he panicked. 

Roger failed to notice important details, like the gentle rise and fall of her chest. And so, when he flew at her, she shot up in surprise, and their foreheads connected with an audible _bang!_ Both reeled backwards in pain, but in Roger's case it was mainly relief, and he sat down next to her. Pulling her close, unaware of the fact that she was still seeing stars, he murmured into her dark hair, "Mimi…"

Blinking rapidly both in confusion and to diminish the pain, Mimi allowed her spindly arms to wrap around him in return. "Roger," she said softly, "I—" But he pulled back at the sound of her voice. It had been weak, terribly weak.

"M-Mimi," he stammered, "maybe you should go to the hospital…"

It was the last thing he wanted. Going to the hospital meant accepting her fate. Angel hadn't returned from the hospital, and it hurt still to think of her. But, to Roger's relief, it seemed to be something Mimi was dreading also…

"No!" she said, sounding almost angry. "No, I won't. I'm okay, really. I feel," here, she paused to let out a racking cough, "fine."

The question rang through Roger's head, accompanied by variations that stung and he found himself opening his mouth to ask her. Promptly, he shut it, but the barrage of queries continued to plague him.

_Is Mimi weak too, like April? Is she the same? Will she take the easy way out? **Is Mimi weak?**_

Mimi saw his torn expression and reached out to touch his face. "Roger," she whispered, "what's wrong?" When he shook his head as if to say 'Nothing,' she frowned and said firmly, "Don't lie to me, I know something's the matter."

"Mimi," Roger said then, but he faltered. Soon, however, he went on, "April—"

"Your dead girlfriend?"

Roger cringed. Mimi was as tactless as ever. "Yes… I told you that she—"

"Killed herself? Yeah." Silence followed, as if Mimi regretted being so thoughtless with her choice of words.

Roger didn't dare to speak until a full minute had passed, and through all that time guilt was eating away at Mimi. Finally, he worked up the courage to tell her the truth, and blurted out haltingly, "I'm afraid—that the same thing—might happen to you." There, it was out in the open, and Roger, who had been examining Mimi's very plain and discomfortingly thin coverlet, finally raised his eyes to meet hers.

He had been expecting surprise, but not anger, which was what he received. Mimi's dark eyes were on fire, and within that blaze were traces of hurt. Roger was not comforted when he saw surprise, too, and waited for the fireworks that, he now realized, he deserved.

"I'm scared too," came her voice, clipped, cold. Not like Mimi's usual warm tones. "I love life, but I'm not fearless. I fear death as much as any other person, but I live for today. Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll take it, be it death or sickness." She let out a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Besides, there's not much choice, is there?" She let out a ghost of a laugh and Roger winced at the bitter sound.  
"You must not know me at all, Roger," Mimi said, softly. "You should know by now that I wouldn't do that. I live my life to the fullest." 

Roger relaxed at her words. She was angry, annoyed, understandably, but he was… what? Reassured? Perhaps.

And so, without any further hesitation, he drew her to him again, and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of her hair. Mimi stilled, quite confused, and whispered something inaudible, but Roger cut it off abruptly when he kissed her.

And against her lips, he smiled and, knowing how much she meant to him now and how much relief she had given him with her angry words, whispered, "Mimi, do you know _why_ I love you?" No reply came, mainly because he was kissing her, and he answered his own question: "Because you are strong."

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**Fin.**

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**Author's Note: **Angst-ridden fluff? Fun stuff to write, that. Anyhoo, as I said before, this is my first (last?) RENT fanfic. It was very fun to write. I hope everyone is in character. In any case, I tried and had a lot of fun. I want to see the show! I've only seen the movie, boo! I LOVE the movie though, don't get me wrong.  
And I know this is terribly short, and for that, I apologize. 

REVIEW.


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